Where To Go From Here
by PhantomTwilighter2009
Summary: A tragic night long ago sent a girl and her children running, but what happens when she finds a ghost from her past? What happens in their future? A long one-shot!


**Here is an angsty, short story. I'm so sorry about not being able to update Memories or Red Rose Thorns. As my usual excuse, my muse has escaped me once more.**

**Erik: *whispers seductively* I thought I was your muse?**

**Me: *blushes* Well...umm, y-you are! It-It's just-**

**Erik: What?**

**Me: Just that nothing is coming to me!**

**Erik: Really? **

**Me: Yeah. Isn't he amazing? Well, here it is! I hope you all enjoy it! It's going to be like my other story, Red Rose Thorns, but I really hope you don't think of it like that!**

**Where To Go From Here**

This could not be happening! This couldn't possibly be happening to her and her husband! Her husband, her sweet, kind, loving husband, had a gun cocked at his forehead and a twisted smile was plastered on the gunman's face..

"Make your choice, my darling. Because, if you don't, I'll decide for you." he said calmly, with a hint of madness mixed in with it.

Honestly, she didn't even know how she ended up here. The last thing she could remember was that she and her husband were taking a walk in the warm summer night. When she had woken up, she found herself in an all too familiar place; the burnt down remains of the opera house.

Now, it was an exactly like the night that had happened all those years ago. Except-

"I said, make. Your. Choice!" he growled, pushing the gun even harder into her husband's temple. His eyes, those beautiful, hypnotizing eyes, pleaded and begged with her not to agree. She knew that he would rather be dead than to live a life without her.

"Please, my love, please say you won't agree." he whispered to her hoarsely. Sorrow was etched into every line of his face. How did things go so wrong so fast? He had sworn that he was going to protect his wife no matter what, but now, he had failed her in the simplest of promises: Not letting her get back in the clutches of that...madman!

Frozen in place, she felt tears roll down her cheeks. Two men, the same two men from that fateful night, were standing before her. One with a gun in his hand, and the other kneeling before them both, begging that she refuse the man's proposal. What was she to do? If she refused, her husband would be killed right in front of her, and if she accepted, she would half to live with the man she had once called her friend.

_The tears I might have shed for your lonely fate,_

_grow cold and turn to tears of hate!_

She sang, changing the words slightly. Even with the decision she made back when she was still a child, she was sure that he would've gone out into the world and settled down with someone who could love him. But now, his once wonderful mind was now clouded with nothing but murder.

"Well, my dear, with that being said," the man smiled and put pressure on the trigger.

"No! Please don't hurt him!" she cried; her terror filled eyes spilled even more tears. Placing her pale hand on her rounded stomach, she knew she had to make a choice. She had to decided right then and there. Feeling the little life kick her, she gazed at the man she had once loved; her body filling with courage for the first time that night.

"I choose Raoul."

A gun shot rang throughout the air.

**3 Years Later**

Christine De Chagny sat in the carriage with her son and daughter, both bouncing eagerly to go visit their late father. It hurt so much to think of that awful night; seeing her husband's blood covering nearly every inch of the blackened stage. The laughter escaping the madman's lips. Her hysterical crying, cradling her husband's head in her lap. Him tearing her away form him!

"Maman, you look sad." the children said in unison. Looking at her young, intelligent children, Christine couldn't help but let the tears well up in her eyes. They were exact replicas of their father, despite the fact one was a boy and the other a girl.

"I'm fine, Chantrice, Mahieu. I was just thinking about your Papa." she smiled slightly as their pretty pale faces lite up. How she loved them! Chantrice was such a smart little girl! She held her Papa's love of music and art; her brother, Mahieu, loved math, science, literature, the list was endless with him. Both devoured any sort of knowledge that their maman was willing to give them.

Raising her golden-brown eyes, Chantrice was dying to ask her maman a question that she knew was a taboo within the household where she lived, "Maman, where is Papa?"

Stiffening at the question, Christine saw the pure innocence of her daughter, she sighed and gave in. Her children had the right to know what had happened to their father. No matter how much it hurt her to retell the horrible story.

"My darlings, your papa is where he has always belonged; in heaven."

"Why is he there?" Mahieu asked, cocking his curly, raven black hair to the side.

"Your papa...protected us one night...he-he didn't make it." Christine chocked out, looking out the window of the carriage so Chantrice and Mahieu wouldn't see her falling apart. They were still too young. They didn't understand it, really. They're only 3!

Looking at each other, the twins nodded their heads, their curls bouncing, and turned back to see their usually strong maman crying. She usually never cried! Not even when the Vicomte hit her at night. Oh how they hated the Vicomte! He was never nice to Maman and hit her all the time; even when she didn't do anything wrong. He yelled at them, calling them the devil's children or monsters. They had known from the very beginning that they were not the Vicomte's children; there were too many differences between them.

Standing up in the carriage, Mahieu sat with his maman, nuzzling his face into her stomach. He had always been a mama's boy, but it never bothered him. He enjoyed spending nearly all his time with her, comforting her when she needed it the most. Even though he wasn't as musically inclined as his sister, Mahieu played his violin as if he were an old man who had been playing for his whole life. In other words, he far surpassed his sister in this category.

Chantrice looked at her brother and maman. They were so much alike; Mahieu had her maman's patience, shyness, and quiet demeanor. While she had a fiery temper that could only be reigned in by Mahieu. She of course loved her maman with all her heart, but, even being a little girl, she had never been the touchy, feely, kind of person. Chantrice liked to comfort her mother with art or singing, unlike her brother who gave her physical comfort.

Wiping her tears away, Christine hugged her son close, thanking God that she had been able to keep both of her angels. When they were born, Raoul had demanded that she kill them. Horrified, Christine, with as much strength of a women who had just given birth to twins could muster, slapped the man nice and hard. She had her babies taken away that very same night. She pleaded with all of the servants to bring them back to her, but they all refused. All of them were too scared to risk losing their jobs than helping her defenseless children back to her. Finally, after nearly a week of suffering, Christine was able to hold the two squirming bundles for the first time. Upon looking at their faces', she smiled warmly at the deformities that plagued them. Chantrice was named because of her lovely voice, and Mahieu earned his name because he was a gift from God.

When she got them back, they were near death. After having a doctor looking over them, she was told that Mathieu only had a few hours. Christine spent night and day nursing him, while trying to take care of her daughter. On the third night, Mathieu's health turned for good, but he had remained weak ever since.

Raoul had been furious when he found out that the servants had given into his wife's pleas. Nearly killing Chantrice, Christine finally snapped. She flew at him, scraping his perfect face with her nails, spitting at him, and anything else that could have possibly deemed her to be mad. That same night, she had packed her bags and left. Not really knowing where to go, she found herself and her children in her original home; the underground lair of her long lost angel.

Raoul found her easily; he had been in the catacombs for only a few hours when he had heard the wailing of two children. Christine fought back as hard as she could, but she was still weak from childbirth, only having performed the act less than a week before. Knowing that he had won, Raoul literally carried her out of the cavern; it was then shut up forever a month later.

Christine had taught Chantrice and Mathieu from the time they could understand her that Raoul was not their real father. That made him even angrier. He demanded that if the children were to live under his roof, they were to call him 'Papa'. And so, they did, but they always washed their mouths out with soap afterwords.

Knowing that her maman was daydreaming, Chantrice began to hum a tune she had known her whole life. Apparently, it had been a song that her papa had taught her maman when she was young.

_Let the dream begin, _

_Let your darker side give in._

_To the power of the music, that I write._

_The power of the music of the night._

She sang softly, putting her slender fingers on top of her maman's. Seeing the smile that was already on her face widen, Chantrice couldn't help but sport a smile of her own. She loved making her maman proud! Even though he was no longer around, she still prayed to the angels that her papa approved of her too.

"I like it that Papa protected us." Mahieu whispered; his voice muffled by his maman's black skirts. Feeling her fingers playing with one of his curls, he sighed and tried to get even closer to her.

"It was a nice thing for him to do." Chantrice chirped in, never liking to be left out in a coversation.

"It was a wonderful thing for him to do. If your papa hadn't died, you, me, not any of us would be here right now." Christine told them gently. This was such a delicate subject to be talking about. She should switch the subject to something lighter and happier, but she knew that it wasn't going to work.

"Maman, can you tell us more about Papa? How did you first meet? Was he handsome?" Chantrice asked, excitement in her small, soprano voice. Mahieu, not even bothering with the girly subject, closed his golden eyes. A man soon appeared behind his dark eyelids. The man was tall, muscular, and very majestic. He had the same black hair, gold eyes, and the same patch of bumpy red flesh that he and his sister shared. Opening his eyes, Mahieu tugged on his maman's lacy sleeve, wanting to ask her if the man he had just seen was his papa or not.

Before Christine could answer her daughter's questions, she felt a small tug on her sleeve and looked down at her son. He looked so tired, but some emotion was on his face; it looked like a combination of curiosity and hope.

"Yes, Mahieu?"

"I saw someone, Maman. He looked like how you describe Papa."

Christine felt her eyebrows shoot up in shock; her son knew what her...Erik had looked like? She couldn't recall if she had ever told him what Erik had looked like, but, somehow, her Mathieu knew.

"Really? What did Papa look like, Maman?" Chantrice squealed happily. She loved to hear anything and everything about her papa!

Sighing once more, Christine began to describe the man whom she hadn't seen in over 3 years, "Your papa was very tall, with broad shoulders, a muscular build to him which made him look intimidating, but he wouldn't hurt a fly. He had these golden eyes, just like your eyes, but his was pure gold, unlike my brown mixed in with it. They were like liquid honey when he was happy, hard as stone when angry, and they had a twinkle to them when he laughed. He had a tan skin tone, which has always amazed me considering where he had lived most of his life,"

"Where did he live?" Mahieu cut in, knowing it was rude, but he was curious! This was exactly like the man he just saw!

"You two might have been too little to remember anything, but Papa lived underneath the old opera house."

"You mean the one that was burned down?" Chantrice butted in. Why would someone like her papa live underneath the opera house? It looked so sad and depressing.

"He lived there because...nobody loved Papa." Christine smiled sadly and stroked Mahieus's deformity. His was just like Erik's, covering the whole right side of his face, but Chantrice's nearly covered her whole face. Only a bit of her skin on her left cheek was all that was normal. Even with such ghastly deformities, Christine never forced her children to wear masks, unless they wanted to. Raoul had demanded that they wear masks, but Christine fought with all her might for the twins and she won. She, of course, got beaten for it, but it was a beating worth taking.

"Why didn't anyone love Papa?" Mahieu chirped, already knowing the answer.

"It was his face, my loves. Not even his mother could love him. He was in a Gypsy freak show when he was young, but my old ballet mistress, Madame Giry, saved him from such a cruel fate. She brought him to the opera when it was still a beautiful and grand building. Then, I came along and you two know the rest."

"Yeah, when you lost your papa,"

"He became your Angel of Music,"

"And he taught you how to sing like an angel,"

"And you both fell in love."

Christine still didn't understand how one twin could start and how the other finished. Nodding her head, she closed her eyes; contemplating on whether or not she should tell them the whole story. About how he had taken her down forcefully after _Don Juan Triumphant_ or how he killed Joseph Buquet to get back at the managers, or how she had decided to stay with, about their marriage, how she became pregnant, how he really died.

No, she decided, they were still too young to understand all of that. She also didn't want them to see their papa, who they looked up to and admired more than any other person, in such a bad light. She decided that when they were older that they would know the whole story, but for now, letting them believe that the whole fiasco that happened years ago never happened.

Looking out the window, Christine saw that they were nearing the cemetery. She felt her heart wrench at the thought of her beloved Erik lying 6 feet under in the cold ground.

"Mahieu, Chantrice, we're nearly there. I have something very important to ask you, alright?"

Confusion crossed their faces, but they both trusted their maman no matter what, so they nodded their heads and waited for her to continue.

"I've packed traveling bags for the three of us. Would you like to go to the opera house and spend a few nights there, or get on a boat that can take us straight to America?" she whispered quietly; not wanting the coachman to hear what she was planning. Christine was fed up with Raoul! The previous night he had threatened sending Mahieu and Chantrice to two separate orphanages. The thought of her children having to be separated was too much to take. With their deformities, especially with one as severe as Chantrice's, they would be picked on until the withered into nothing.

"What do you mean, Maman?"

"Are we leaving the Vicomte?"

Mahieu and Chantrice's faces lite up at their maman's nod. They were leaving! The stupid, ugly Vicomte wouldn't hurt them any more! Mahieu left his maman's side, just for a moment, to talk it over with his sister; she was the one he always went to when he had a hard decision to make.

"Where do you want to go first, Chani? I mean, America! Think about it." he said with a giant smile on his face. He could probably get some friends in America. Ones that wouldn't make fun of his face or how smart he and his sister was.

"It would be perfect, but don't you want to see what Papa's old home looked like first? I don't think that, once we get to America, we may never get to come back here." Chantrice argued. She had always heard stories from her maman about their papa's home and wanted nothing more than to see it.

"But, don't you think that it could hurt Maman? She always says that bringing up memories of Papa hurts. Maybe Papa's house wouldn't be such a good idea."

"I'll be fine, my little angel." Christine said gently. She knew that the twins wanted to see the underground lair. Yes, it would bring up wonderful and painful memories, but this would be the last time that they would ever be in France. "We can go to the opera house if that is what you two want."

"Really?" the both asked happily.

"Yes. Now, lets go visit Papa and then we can go." she smiled and opened the carriage door, not bothering to wait for the coachman to open it for her.

"Madame De Chagny, how long are you going to be here?" he asked, watching the strange family walk off into the cemetery.

"It's Madame Destler, if you don't mind. We'll be here for an hour or less, so please, stay here. Come along, loves." she answered coldly. It was really just an act that she did for all of the servants in the manor; the twins were even in on it.

The small group were the only people in the whole area, which Christine couldn't help but be grateful for. The last time they were here, some kids threw rocks and sticks at Mahieu and Chantrice; calling them 'freaks' and 'monsters'. They refused ever since to go visit.

It didn't take very long to find the headstone that they were looking for; it was a simple, marble headstone that had roses carved into the marble.

_Erik Destler_

_Wonderful husband, beautiful musician, and loving, hopeful father._

They didn't include how old he was. The world didn't need to know. Christine remembered the day of the funeral; she, Madame Giry, Meg, and Raoul were the only attendants. Raoul nearly went mad when she asked him if she could attend Erik's funeral. He was her husband, for God's sake! How could she not want to go to his funeral? She never got to see his face either. They told her that his face was beyond recognition, but the truth was was that the priest didn't want to look at his face. Everybody knew it. When they lowered him into the ground, she ended up going into labor. It nearly killed her that she couldn't stay and watch the rest of the funeral.

Kneeling in front of the grave, her children at either side, she began to talk, "Erik, it's us. Oh, Erik, please forgive me, but I've decided to move to America with Chantrice and Mahieu. This will be the last time that we get to talk to you, love. I'm so sorry." she chocked on the last words.

Knowing what to do, the twins picked up where their maman had left off, with Chantrice starting,

"We are really sorry, Papa,"

"We're really going to miss you."

"But, we'll be away from the Vicomte,"  
"Just like Maman always wanted for us."

"We love you, Papa,"

"And please be with us when we leave."

"But we're not leaving yet, though."

"We're going to your old home for the night!"

"We've always wanted to see what your home looked like,"

"Ever since Maman told us stories about it."

"We love you." the said in unison. Out of habit, they hugged the cold marble, Chantrice placing a small kiss above her papa's name.

"Angels, how about you two go play for a minute; I would appreciate some alone time with Papa."

"Alright, Maman." they smiled and ran off.

"Erik, what the children said are true. We're leaving for America tomorrow morning. I just can't take it anymore! Raoul has nearly beaten me to death, he's threatened to send the children away to separate orphanages. I-I couldn't let him do that. With their deformities, they would die from being picked on and tormented; almost like you, mon ange. I hope you don't mind us staying in our old home. I just wanted to stay somewhere safe for the night. I love you, my Erik. Thank you for everything that you've done for us. Aurevior, Monsieur le Fantôme." she cried silently. She didn't want to leave him! Even though he was dead, something deep in her gut told her otherwise.

Hearing the children coming closer, Christine quickly dried her tears, but it turned out to be a useless attempt. Feeling a small hand on her shoulder, she grabbed her son into a hug while her daughter hummed a song that Christine had sung as a lullaby. "Oh, how I love you, my precious, precious angels. Thank you."

"We're happy to help, Maman."

"We know how much you miss Papa."

"You're very right. I miss Papa very, very much. Now, do you want to got see his home?" Christine asked; her voice still a little shaky with tears. Nodding, Mahieu and Chantrice ran back to the gates; their curls bouncing with each step. Slowly standing up, Christine brushed the dirt of her skirt and placed a kiss on the top of the cold marble. "I love you, mon ange."

Following her giggling children, she instructed the coachman to take her to the opera house.

"Why there, Madame De-Daae?"

"I-I have a few things that I would like to collect there. Plus, I'm also meeting an old friend." she replied, trying her best to lie through her teeth. She'd never been a good liar, but the old man seemed to believe her, with no reaction but a shrug, and clicked at the horses to start.

Looking at Chantrice and Mahieu, they were asleep; their long, musical fingers in twined, their heads leaning against each other. Smiling warmly at them, Christine removed her cloak and placed them on their small, petite bodies. The two of them were so close; it was as if something was connecting them together. Like how they finished their sentences, knew practically what they were thinking.

"Sleep for now, little ones. You've got a long journey ahead of you tomorrow." Christine whispered sweetly. Pulling off her black leather gloves, she traced the thin scars on her wrists. She couldn't remember how or when they got there, but she was pretty sure she was the one who had caused them. Probably after...well, after that night. How could she have been so stupid to do such a thing? She could have killed her children! Her poor, innocent children, who didn't even get a say in any of it, could have died because of her stupidity!

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." she cried softly. She was an emotional wreck today and she couldn't figure out why. Normally, she was numb after visiting Erik's grave, but today, she couldn't seem to stop crying. It was probably because of all the questions that Chantrice and Mahieu brought up and that they were going back to the place where she and her angel had lived in for at least 3 years.

It had been a good hour before they reached the burnt remains of the opera house. It had originally been scheduled to be torn down, but with her power as the Vicomtess, she was able to save it and restore it a little.

"Here we are, Madame Daae.**" **the coachman announced. Gently waking her children, they exited the carriage for the second time that day, but this time, Christine took out the three travel bags, handing one to each child, and turned to the kind old man.

"Monsieur, please, don't tell the Vicomte that we're here. Tell him that I've gone to stay with Mademoiselle and Madame Giry for the night."

"Of course, Madame. And you know, I've been able to see past your cold exterior." he smiled.

"What are you talking about?" Christine tried to lie, but from the look in his eyes, the old man had known all along.

"You've made the right choice in leaving the Vicomte. I pray that you and your family will have all the happiness in world. Have a safe passage to America." and with that, he drove off, leaving a very shocked and stunned Christine. Shaking off the incident, she felt Chantrice and Mahieu's hands grab onto her skirt; trusting her with their whole beings.

"It's going to be dark when we go inside, but you mustn't be afraid." she instructed them. They were brave children, but they were a little afraid of the dark. Hearing their 'yes', she opened the secret door on the Rue de Scribe. Lighting the lamp that had always been at the entrance and began their decent into the bowels of the opera house.

"Maman, is it always this cold down here?" Mahieu asked; his face buried in her skirts. He wasn't usually afraid of the dark, but this was the most intense darkness that he had ever been in. Even with the lamp, the light wasn't very bright and threatened to give out several times.

"Not always. When I first came down here, the night of my debut, your papa had it all warm so that I could be comfortable. I promise that I'll get a fire going when we arrive." she replied and kissed his messy hair. Memories soon began to invade her mind; her debut, Erik singing to her from behind her mirror, following him, trusting her angel, his lair, his voice, ringing throughout the cavern, her fainting, taking off his mask...no, she couldn't think about all of that now. She had to focus on getting her children to the safety of her old home.

Chantrice couldn't believe that this was the place where her maman and papa used to live; it was so cold, damp, and full of cobwebs; it was depressing. Her maman was so beautiful with her brown curls and chocolate brown eyes, how could she have survived in such a place?

"Alright, little ones, we've got to cross the rest of the way in a boat. Be careful and watch your step." Christine told them and helped them into the gondola; more memories hitting her aching head. Their singing, Erik's body softly outlined in the candlelight, his voice caressing her body...

Pushing off, Christine rowed the gondola awkwardly at first, never having done it before, but soon got the hang of it. The twins were practically bouncing with excitement. This was the first time that they had ever been in a boat, even if it was a small one. It was still dark, but there seemed to be a soft glow coming from the other side of the lake.

"Maman, somebody is already here." Chantrice whispered. She thought that no one would be down here with all that her Maman had told her. The Vicomte even told them that the lair was sealed off from the rest of the world. Who could have possibly gotten in?

Christine felt her blood run cold when she saw the light. Could Raoul have known that she was comng back down here? He only knew the one entrance, the one from her mirror, but never about the one from the Rue de Scribe. The only people who knew about it was her and...Erik. No, there had to be someone else who had known about it. And whoever that person was, she would force them to leave.

Reaching the other side of the lake, she got out of the boat, nearly falling into the freezing blackness, and lifted her children out.

Taking a good look at the lair for the first time, she gasped in horror; it was completely destroyed. The organ was beaten in, music scattered everywhere, the furniture was nothing but splinters, and the once beautiful rugs that used to cover the cavern wall were ripped to shreds. Raoul, no doubt, did this to her home. The last time she was down here, when the twins were barely a few days old, it looked exactly how she had left it. But now, there was nothing.

"Follow me." she chocked out, tears coming out of her eyes once more. Mahieu and Chantrice both couldn't believe the state of the home; it looked nothing like what their maman had described it to be. Chantrice raced up to the beaten, old organ and caressed its yellowing keys, wishing that she could have played it. From the looks of it, it once made lovely music.

"Maman, can we look around?" Mahieu asked, spying the library that covered the majority of the left cavern wall. He loved reading and from what he was told, his papa had an extensive library filled with all sorts of books on math, science, languages, and everything that his little three year-old mind could conjure up.

"You may, but you must be getting to bed soon, alright?" Christine said, kissing both of their foreheads.

"Okay!" they giggled and ran off towards the books. Walking off towards the bedroom, Christine couldn't help but sigh. That one room held way too many memories for her personal liking, but it was the only place where they could sleep, with all the furniture being destroyed.

Pushing back the red curtain that closed the room off to the rest of the house, she nearly collapsed at what she found. Lying on the swan bed was Erik; his chest weakly rising and falling. Hesitantly walking closer, Christine noticed how pale and thin he was; his cheekbones protruded through his thin layer of skin and his long fingers looked even bonier than she remembered.

No! This had to be some cruel, sick joke that her mind was playing on her! All the memories that had been bombarding her mind finally made her thin line of sanity snap. But, he looked so solid and real. Tentatively, she reached out a her trembling hand and felt her warm tears fall as she came in contact with his cold flesh.

"Erik." she whispered. His face twitched at the sound of his name, sending Christine's heart into over drive. "Erik, can...can you hear me?" she asked. His head moved back and forth this time. He couldn't possibly be a dream! He was real; he was flesh and blood and not dead and buried in the ground. "Please, wake up, my darling, please."

Noticing the gunshot wound on his forehead, she kissed it over and over again; her hands caressing his face. Looking at it, it looked as if it had never fully healed. "Oh, Erik. Wake up. Wake up for me, please."

Then, she felt his lashes batting against her palms. Looking down at him, she saw his gorgeous golden eyes open and alert. "Wh-What?" he muttered hoarsely.

"Erik, it's me, Christine. I'm back, love, I'm back." she cried against his neck. How is it that he was still alive? She had seen the light fade from his eyes, but Erik was a man of many talents.

"C-Christine? You....you're here?"

"Yes, I am. I'm real, too. Don't mistake me for a hallucination. How did you ever survive? I thought I had lost you forever."

"Christine?" he asked in a puzzled tone. Lifting her face from his neck, Christine looked into his confused eyes and felt the relief she had been feeling slowly trickle out of her. Didn't he recognize her?

"I'm so sorry for ever leaving you, mon ange. I thought you were dead."

"I-I...you're not real." he cried suddenly.

"I am, Angel! I swear to you I am!" she whispered fiercely to him. He had to be convinced that she was real, but she noticed his slight flinch at her harsh tone. "Touch me, love. I'm here for you now." she said gently, stroking his thick raven hair, which now held gray in it from so many years of stress.

"Y-You can't...be Christine. Can...you?"

"Erik, I'll prove it to you. Do you remember the night when we...made our child? It was our wedding anniversary, March 10th. You were so excited to become a father. Remember?"

Nodding his head, he looked deeply into her chocolate eyes and Christine could have sworn that she saw a glimmer of hope in his. "I-I do. Can....can it really....b-be you?"

"It really is me, mon Fantôme." she cooed softly, wiping away his tears with her fingers.

"Sing. I-If you...sing, then...then I'll k-know you're my Christine."

Smiling she began the song that she had known since she was a little girl,

_Angel of Music, guide and guardian,_

_Brought to me your glory._

_Angel of Music, hide no longer,_

_Come to me strange Angel._

"Christine." he breathed; his arms weakly wrapping around her waist. She soon turned her head as she heard the pounding of little feet and smiled at her children; their eyes wide as saucers.

"Is that,"

"Papa?" they asked; it was probably a hoax, but their maman wouldn't joke about such a thing.

"It is, my angels. Do you want to say hello?"

Nodding their heads furiously, they practically ran to the bed and hopped up onto it. Chantrice smiled warmly at her papa, barely even noticing how awfully weak or sick he was. Mahieu, on the other hand, was horrified at the state his papa was in; he looked like death itself. How could this be the strong, majestic person their maman always talked about?

"My children." Erik breathed happily. It was a miracle enough that he had his Christine back, but to have two children was a blessing. Looking at the little girl, he saw how terrible her deformity was, but her innocent eyes sparkled at him and her black curls draped her face just like her mother's. Shifting his gaze tot he boy, he saw that his face wasn't nearly as bad, in fact, it looked like his, but he had the same eyes, nose, mouth as Erik did. The only thing that belonged to their mother that stood out were the curls that adorned their heads.

"Hello, Papa." they said in unison.

"My name is Chantrice,"

"And mine is Mahieu."

"Chantrice and Mahieu, what unusual and beautiful names." Erik said so low that they barely heard him. He couldn't stay awake any longer; he had to sleep, but he would wake up soon so he could learn more about his family. Closing his eyes, a small smile spread across his pale face.

A family; what a happy thought.

**10 Years Later**

Christine screamed at the top of her lungs as she felt another contraction rip through her. She thought that after having the twins and her other two children, but it felt even worse than the last.

"You're doing a fabulous job, my Christine. The baby is nearly here." a voice cooed in the distance; it sounded as if she were underwater and whoever was talking to her was above.

"Is Maman alright?" a small voice asked. She knew whose voice that belonged to; her four year-old daughter Minjonet. What was she doing in here? No one but her husband was supposed to be in there.

"Don't worry, mon petite, Maman is very strong. She's going to be fine."

"Really?" a slightly older voice asked; it beloned to eight year-old Laurent.

"Really. Now, please, go play with each other, bother your older sister and brother, I don't care. Just no going into my study, understood?"

"Yes, Papa." the two grumbled and reluctantly walked out of the room. Feeling the contraction letting up a little, Christine was able to see her second oldest and soon-be-third oldest walk off; Laurent's brown waves of hair swishing back and forth while Minjonet's black-brown curls bounced.

"Erik, please, make it stop." she breathed heavily. The pain was nearly too much!

"You're almost there, Christine! We can see the baby's head! Just a few more pushes, darling and we'll have another angel." Erik encouraged her softly. He wished so much that he could take some of the pain off of his poor wife, but she was almost done! Squeezing her hand, he felt Christine give another push, a scream ripping through her throat, but as she fell back against the pillows, a soft cry rang out in the room.

"M-My baby?" Christine whispered hoarsely. This baby sounded so much quieter than when her other children were born.

"It's a baby girl, love. A perfectly healthy baby girl." Erik announced proudly; a little worried also that his newborn daughter wasn't crying. She was asleep, her small chest moving up and down. Wiping her off with a soft, white towel, he noticed that she had wavy black hair, pale skin, lips like his, and a nose like her mother's; she was perfect. Wrapping her up in a fuzzy pink blanket, Erik placed their child in her weak arms.

"Erik, she's beautiful. I just wish I could see what her eyes looked like." Christine mumbled sleepily, but the excitement and love overpowered it. The baby was lovely combination of her and Erik. "I'm sure the children would like to see their new sister."

"I'm sure they would, but we need to name the angel first." Erik smiled, kissing his wife's damp curls. No matter how tired she was afterwords, there was always a glow about Christine that took Erik's breath away. Her red, sweat drenched cheeks, her damp curls, her weak voice, but the happiness in her eyes pushed through all of that; she was the strongest out of all of them.

"You name her. I've named all of our children so far."

"That's not true! I helped name Minjonet!"

"With her middle name. Please, my love, name her." Christine pouted playfully as she began to rock the child, in hopes of waking her so she could let her eat. She was so tiny, which really wasn't surprising because she had been two months premature, but she looked to be alright. With so gentle coaxing, Erik and Christine watched with awe as her tiny eyes opened; they were gold, just like Erik and the twins.

"Hello, Angel. Why, aren't you pretty?" Erik whispered softly, holding out his finger for his daughter to grasp. Giggling, she grabbed happily onto her papa's finger. Laughing himself, he thought of the most perfect name for her, "Alair."

"Alair Destler. It's a very fitting name." Christine smiled warmly at her husband. Hearing the pounding of feet outside her door, she motioned for him to open it and awaited the 'ohs' and 'ahs' of her older children. Kissing her again, Erik stood up and walked to the door, slowly opening the door; making sure to tease his children before he allowed them in.

"Come on, Papa! Let us in!" Chantrice complained, pushing against the door. She wanted to see her newest sister! Now that she did a head count, she only saw two of her siblings. Where was Mahieu?

"She's got a point, Father, let us see our sister." Laurent said calmly, unlike his two sisters who looked like they were ready to push the door down. He was just as excited to see the baby as much as them, but he didn't want to upset the little child; he still remembered how horribly Minjonet cried when he ever made a loud noise when she was still a baby.

"Alright, but be quiet, though. Maman is feeding you're sister right now." Erik smiled warmly as he led his three children in. Wait a minute, where was his eldest son? That usually wasn't a good thing; it usual meant that he was getting into trouble, despite the fact that he was a shy, calm boy.

Minjonet hopped onto the bed beside her exhausted looking Maman, a huge grin spread across her face.

"She's so tiny! What's her name?"

"Alair, my darling." Erik answered, seeing Christine preoccupied with Alair at the moment. Watching her grin getting even bigger, he sat beside his daughter and stroked her dark brown curls. Looking up at his other children, he felt his heart swell. Laurent was a kind, sweet boy who looked exactly like he did, despite his brown hair and lack of deformity. He loved music, like the rest of his family, but his real passion was with learning new languages; he so far learned five and was still craving more. Minjonet was the perfect replica of Christine, same curly brown hair, chocolate eyes, soft features. She loved dancing more than anything and she was currently taking lessons from Madame Giry, who had retired a few years ago, but still agreed to teach the little Destler child.

Then there were the twins, Chantrice and Mahieu. Erik still remembered the day when his Christine had found him, allowing him to meet his first born children. They were absolutely perfect in his eyes; their deformities were nothing more than a birth mark. It was definitely awkward for the first few weeks of being reunited, but as his health improved, they treated him as if he'd been there from the beginning.

"Father!" a breathless voice said from the doorway; he knew right away who it was.

"Yes, Mahieu?"

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here earlier, but I have a present for,"

"Alair, my kind son." Christine answered, giving Erik a teasing look.

"For Alair." Mahieu finished. He felt awful that he missed another one of the births, but it was all worth it. He had a tradition that if a new addition came into the family, be it a pet or sibling, he wrote a piece for them on the violin.

"Can you play it, Mahie? Please?" Minjonet begged sweetly. She adored hearing her older brother playing on his violin! It sounded like something the angels played, like when Maman and Papa sang together. Seeing how excited his little sister was, Mahieu placed his grandfather's violin underneath his chin and began to play a soothing lullaby. It was a very simple song, yet, he felt as if the simplicity of it was what made it perfect for the bundle in his mother's arms.

Christine felt her eyelids growing heavy at the music, but she didn't want to go to sleep. True, the birth had taken a toll on her delicate body, she wanted to marvel at her family like she did every time she had a baby, this one probably being the last.

Her family. Christine never expected such a wonderful miracle to occur. She could still remember the nights of torment when Raoul would beat her or Chantrice and Mahieu, how much she wanted to escape and leave for America.

Then, she had found the man she had thought to be dead for three long years. Erik was barely alive when Christine had found him; his gunshot wound, even being three years old, had never fully healed and had become infected. After six weeks of feverish nightmares and countless soothing words, Erik pulled through. He would never be the same strong, muscular man she had known, but that didn't matter to her; he had been called to death twice and he had denied it both times.

Once he had fully recovered, the small reunited family made a safe passage to America and with the money Erik had made being the Opera Ghost, they had been able to buy a large home out in the country in Maine.

Hearing both of her daughter's beginning to sing, Christine finally gave into the darkness that had been nagging her for the longest time; her last thought was her tremendous love for her very unusual, slightly dysfunctional family.

**Okay, it's done. I only expected it to be shorter than this, like five pages shorter (it's 11 pages!) but it had a mind of its own and I just typed it! I enjoyed looking up the names of the kids! If you want to know the meaning of each, here they are,**

**Chantrice-singer**

**Mahieu-gift from God**

**Alair-cheerful**

**Laurent-crowned with laurel**

**Minjonet-petite blue flower**

**I love how unique they all are! The ending was kinda crappy but if you want me to revise it, I can, but I need reviews for that!**

**Erik: Please send in reviews. I'll give you a rose with each review.**

**Me: Do you honestly have to be here every time I try to talk to my readers?**

**Erik: Yes**

**Me: Fine. So, please follow Erik's advice and review for me please! Thank you!**


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